


Another Bar

by Hadespuppy



Category: Oz (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Dubious Consent, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, PWP, possible drug use, safer sex that is anything but safe, this for the three people who will appreciate it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 19:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13841043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadespuppy/pseuds/Hadespuppy
Summary: Chris stepped closer, crowding Dean against the pool table. He held Dean’s gaze and ran his fingers down the pool cue until they just barely brushed Dean’s. “Oh, I’m sure we can come up with something”Dean swallowed. Blood was pounding in his ears, his instincts telling him to get away before he lost what little control of the situation he still had. He shoved those instincts down, meeting the challenge in the too close blue eyes. He licked his lips.“Yeah, I’ll take that wager”





	Another Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the tags in the end note.   
> The bar and incidental character are based on actual people and a bar near the place I used to work. If anyone recognizes them I will laugh forever.  
> I decided to fudge the timelines a bit, and have Keller meet up with Dean before he lands himself in jail. I figured young, overly sure of himself Dean would be exactly his type.

Another bar.

It could have been any run down bar in any of a thousand small towns and cities they had been to over the years. This one was a long room with a couple of pool tables at the far end, and a juke box tucked into one corner near the washrooms. There were trucker hats from all over lining a high shelf that encircled the whole place, and several dead animals mounted on the walls, some taxidermied better than others. Dean surveyed the crowd, hunter’s instincts automatically noting the exits and scanning for anyone  who might be trouble. Or an easy mark. 

There were a couple of old timers hanging out at a table near the bar, the kind that probably stopped in every day for at least one drink, if not more, one or two singles who looked like they were just passing through, and group of tanned college aged kids messing around with the jukebox. They were fit, probably working summer jobs at one of the outfitters that dotted the lakes and rivers in this part of the world. And if the current musical selection was anything to go by, they more than deserved to get rolled. 

Dean sauntered over to the bar and flashed a smile at the bartender. “You got anything cold and wet back there, sugar?” 

She returned the smile and pulled a green bottle from the cooler behind the bar. “One of these okay?”

Dean didn’t even glance at the bottle. “From you, I’m sure it’ll be just fine.”

She grinned even wider and handed him the bottle. Dean tipped it towards her in thanks, and held her eyes just long enough to gauge the possibilities of future acrobatic activities before turning to face the room. He surreptitiously assessed the group of kids, looking for the best mark. If they were working the lakes, they wouldn’t likely be wearing much in the way of obvious wealth, but there was one blond guy with the perfectly even teeth and casual confidence that spoke of never having been denied anything. He was also, Dean noted, looking a little loose, drinking the kind of imported beer that college kids drank when they wanted to convince themselves they were better than other people. He would do nicely. 

Dean drank a few more, chatting idly with the bartender whenever she made her way over to his end of the bar. If her smile and the way she twisted her hips as she walked away were anything to go by, he had more than just a full wallet to look forward to at the end of the night. Once he had drunk enough to take the edge off, and more than enough to convince anyone who didn’t know him that he was well and truly drunk, he levered himself off the bar and headed over towards the can, which conveniently took him right past the group of kids. As he passed them, he paused to flash the blond a wide lopsided grin.

“Sweet tunes, man,” he said, far more enthusiastically that the music deserved. 

Having caught the guys’ attention, Dean continued on to the men’s room, making sure to not quite travel in a straight line. Once he had finished, he returned to the group, standing not quite upright on their periphery. They had been fooling around with one of the pool tables earlier, but now two of them were using it as a seat as they talked overloudly about their ongoing summer adventures. 

“Hey, any of you know how to play?” he asked, slurring just enough to keep up the charade. “I was s’posed to meet my brother, but he never showed. Someone want a game?” 

They looked him over, and Dean could see the moment when Blondie decided this was an opportunity to show off for the few girls in the group. 

“Sure, what’s the wager?” he said, hopping off the table and pulling out his wallet. 

Dean grabbed for his own cash, examined it far more closely than he really needed to, then threw down two tens on the table. 

“20 bucks?”

“Why not,” Blondie replied, and pulled a crisp note from his wallet, which Dean noted was still far from empty. This was turning out perfectly. 

“Alright, let’s get this party started,” he grinned, letting some of his enthusiasm show through as he racked the balls and stepped back to let Blondie break. 

It was easy to let the guy win the first game. Dean wobbled his way around the table, smiling widely and laughing with the spectators when he missed his shots. He played just well enough to keep the guy from feeling bad for taking advantage of his drunken state, and when the last ball fell, he dropped his cue on the table with a laugh. 

“Well, I think I need another drink, and then I’m coming back to win my money back, mister” he said, pointing a finger at Blondie.

“Sure thing, man, whatever you want.”

When he returned with his drink, Dean tossed $50 down on the table. He probably could have pushed for more, to really make some cash when he’d eventually win their third game, but Blondie seemed a nice enough kid, albeit one with terrible taste in music, and Dean didn’t really need the money. Like a good mark, the kid met the bet with the same easy enthusiasm as he had the first time. 

Dean played a little better this game, making a show of concentrating on lining up his shots and keeping his wild flubs to a minimum. He was only two balls behind when the kid sunk the eight. Dean frowned as if he wasn’t sure what had happened, then smiled at his opponent. 

“You’re good at this, dude. For real. Gimme one more shot.” 

Blondie preened at the compliment, but his friends were pulling him away, saying something about needing to get back to base. 

“C’mon,” Dean pressed, “double or nothing” 

The kid’s eyes widened as Dean pulled more bills out of his pocket. It was obviously all the cash he had, and Dean was making himself such an easy mark. Blondie looked over at his friends. 

“If he wants to,” he half asked them. 

“Nathan, no” one of the girls responded. “The guy’s drunk, it’s not fair. And besides, Blake’ll kill us if we’re out too late  _ again _ . You know he hates sitting with the phone by himself.”

Blondie, Nathan apparently, turned back to Dean, obviously torn. Half the fun of the game had been to impress the girls, and if they wanted him to leave? Dean offered a placidly encouraging smile. 

“If you have to go, I’ll take the bet,” a new voice butted in from behind Dean. 

Dean turned to look. It was one of the guys he had figured for a traveler. He looked friendly enough, with short cropped hair and an easygoing smile under his heavy brow. He was tall, about the same height and breadth as Dean, and his maroon henley showed a body that looked like he worked for a living, but not so big as to make him a gym rat. Dean contemplated him for a moment. He didn’t like taking on an unknown opponent, but the kid was slipping away, and a new mark was better than no mark. Besides, he was pretty confident in his game. Not many people actually gave him trouble these days. 

The new guy seemed to take his hesitation as reluctance. “Tell you what, I’ll make it an even $200 if you win, and buy you a beer either way,” he offered. 

“Get me the beer first” Dean responded. “I’m gonna take a piss, then I’mma kick your ass” 

The guy smiled at his tacit agreement and headed off to the bar. By the time he returned with a pair of beers, Dean had done his business and was racking the balls once again. He’d have to play this one carefully, he thought. Keep up the affable drunk act for a few balls before going on the attack, or the guy might cotton on to the game. 

“You break,” he said, passing a chalk over to the guy in exchange for one of the beers. 

“Sure thing,” he responded, “the name’s Chris by the way.”

“Dean”

“I look forward to taking your money, Dean,” Chris answered pleasantly.

“We’ll see about that.” Dean replied. “I’m not loosh– not losing three times in one night”

Chris raised his bottle “May the best man win” 

 

Dean isn’t quite sure when he lost control of the game. It seemed one minute he was carefully flubbing shots, drawing the guy in, playing up the effects of the beer in his hand, and the next he was watching striped balls fall into the pockets one after another, and almost scrambling to keep up. 

He circled the table, lining up a near impossible shot. He heard a noise behind him and glanced back. Chris was. Chris was close, almost looming despite their similar size. The hint of a smile was playing at the edges of his mouth. 

“Not quite what you expected, pretty boy?” he asked. 

Dean smiled broadly, dropping the pretense of inebriation. “Nothing I can’t handle” 

Chris answered with his own toothy grin. “Yeah? Then why don’t we make this really interesting?”

The room suddenly felt very warm and Dean’s hand tightened slightly on the pool cue, but his smile never wavered. “More interesting than $200? What did you have in mind?”

Chris stepped closer, crowding Dean against the pool table. He held Dean’s gaze and ran his fingers down the pool cue until they just barely brushed Dean’s. “Oh, I’m sure we can come up with something”

Dean swallowed. Blood was pounding in his ears, his instincts telling him to get away before he lost what little control of the situation he still had. He shoved those instincts down, meeting the challenge in the too close blue eyes. He licked his lips. 

“Yeah, I’ll take that wager” His voice was breathier than he would have liked, and he could tell Chris knew it too.

“Alright then,” Chris said, stepping back and spreading his hands in what would have been a friendly gesture to go ahead if it weren’t for the electricity in the air, “still your turn.” 

Dean turned back to the table, focusing his thoughts down to the familiar geometry of balls and felt covered slate. He tried not to think about the leer he could practically feel Chris giving him from behind as he bent over and settled in to take his shot. He breathed once, in and out, and felt the familiar calm settle over him. The balls connected with a satisfying click, and Dean’s target rattled into the corner pocket. He threw a smirk over his shoulder and moved to line up the next shot. That one sank as well, and the next, and only one ball remained for Dean to sink before he could go for the eight. He was feeling calmer, like the air had returned to the room. He knew this dance. His body began to relax imperceptibly, true confidence taking the place of the bravado he had been displaying. He took a swig of his beer and looked across the table at Chris. The knowing smile hadn’t left the other man’s face, as if he knew something Dean didn’t, and Dean felt some of his sureness falter, although he didn’t drop his gaze. 

Chris raised his beer to his mouth and paused, his tongue flicking out over the mouth of the bottle before he took a sip. Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from the curved lips. 

“Don’t start celebrating yet,” Chris smirked.

Dean steadied his gaze. “I don’t lose,” he said, flush creeping up his neck as he returned the challenge.

Chris leaned back against the wall, his lean body loose and relaxed. “With that attitude, a guy might think you don’t like him”

“Oh, I like you fine,” Dean returned, “but I’m still not going to lose.”

“Go ahead then, hotshot. Show me what you’ve got.” Chris scratched idly at his belly, his hand pulling the the hem of his soft looking henley up, exposing a glimpse of tan skin and sparse dark hair leading down into his low slung jeans.

Dean forced his eyes back to the pool table. The remaining shot wasn’t a gimme, but it wasn’t anything that would normally give him any sort of trouble. As it was, with this strange electricity hanging in the air, and the unspoken consequences should he miss, Dean’s confidence was as much show as it was reality.

He took his time, searching for that familiar space of absolute focus where he couldn’t miss. Chris hadn’t moved. From his casual pose, he could have had nothing at all riding on the game. Dean lined up his cue, inhaled once, then took the shot and waited for the satisfying rattle of another ball hitting the pocket. A heartbeat later, he watched incredulously as the orange ball bounced off the rail and slowly came to a stop in the middle of the table. Anyone who knew him well would have wondered too, but if they had asked if he had flubbed it on purpose, he would have flatly denied it, possibly with his fists. 

Chris’s smile widened to a crooked tiger grin as he lazily pushed himself up from his position on the wall. He barely even looked at his shot as he deftly sank the eight ball in the centre pocket. 

“My game,” he said softly.

“You’re good,” Dean acknowledged with a nod, still disbelieving that he had missed. 

Chris shrugged. “You can’t play a player” He sauntered around the table to where the money, near forgotten by this point, lay on the table beside Dean’s hip. Dean could have moved away, could have handed him the cash to maintain some sort of distance between them, but he was rooted to the spot, watching Chris’s predatory approach. He stopped too close to Dean, heat radiating off his body like a furnace. He smiled crookedly and leaned in, slowly reaching for the cash. They still weren’t touching, but Dean sould sense the long length of him against his body like electricity. Chris flicked the cash up between them, waving it under Dean’s nose. 

“Nice playing you, now for the rest of my prize.”

Dean swallowed, trying gamely to maintain his usual cocksure attitude. This was so much more than he had bargained for when he left the hotel that night. 

“Yeah?” he said, a little proud of the challenge still in his voice. 

“Yeah.” Chris moved closer, pressing Dean against the pool table. “You got somewhere we can go, or should we give these country boys a show?” He tilted his head back at the regulars sitting closer to the bar. 

Dean’s head was swimming, his thoughts fried by the contact between them. He forced himself back to some semblance of rational thought. He thought of the dingy room in the hotel attached to the bar, of the disappointment in Sam’s eyes, that he tried so hard to cover with indulgence ever since he found out about Dean’s deal. 

“I have a car,” he said, voice deeper than he had intended. “Out back” 

Chris smiled wider. “Perfect, lead the way”

He stepped back swiftly and gestured for Dean to go first. Dean resolutely did not sway forward at the loss of contact, but it was a near thing. 

Dean snagged his coat and lead the way out the back door of the bar. He resisted the urge to glance back at the pretty bartender, who doubtless would have been a safer choice. His heart was pounding, but the cool night air gave him some of his assurance back. He was far from in control of the situation, and he had no idea what Chris expected from him, but at least out here if things went sideways he could handle it without too many witnesses making things messy and maybe forcing him to grab Sam and leave town. If only he knew what constituted “going sideways” in this situation.

He had parked around the corner, far enough away from the door to be out of the path of stumbling drunks, but not so well hidden as to make his baby a tempting target. He stopped and turned when he got to the car.

“So–” He barely got the word out before Chris slammed him against the stucco wall of the building, hands on either side of his head. The impact forced the air out of his lungs, and when he opened his mouth to refill them, Chris was there, capturing his his mouth in something that was too much tongue and teeth to properly be called a kiss. Dean froze for a moment under the assault before the baser part of his brain kicked in and he responded with equal heat. He wrapped his arms around Chris’s back, feeling the strength of him and fisting his hands in his shirt, which was just as soft as it had looked. 

Chris laughed, and Dean felt the rumble in his chest. “I knew there was more to you than just a pretty boy who’s not as good at pool as he thinks he is.”

“You sayin’ I’m pretty?” Dean asked, tilting his head back to let Chris bitenibblesuck on his neck, just below his ear. “I might have to take exception to that”

Chris smirked into Dean’s neck. “You telling me no one’s ever told you that pretty mouth of yours was made to be wrapped around a cock?”

“Not and stayed standing much longer,” Dean replied. He pressed his hips forward, angling for more contact. Chris answered by grinding him harder into the wall and gripping his head hard between his hands before assaulting his mouth again. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, when he finally relented slightly. “You just gonna talk or are you going to let me pay what I owe?” 

“Oh, I’ll get mine,” Chris said, snaking a hand between them and flicking Dean’s jeans open with a practiced twist of his fingers that Dean would like to have studied, were more of his brain functioning at the time. Chris’s hand was hot on his cock, drawing it out of his boxers and swiftly stroking it to full hardness.

Dean moaned slightly and relaxed back into the wall. It seemed Chris had a plan, so he might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. He let his hands drift under the edge of the man’s soft shirt, seeking skin, then dipped down past the waistband of his jeans. Chris wasn't wearing any underwear. That was way hotter than it probably should have been. Dean tried to sink his hands deeper, to get a feel of the firm ass he knew was hiding under the jeans, but Chris pulled his hips back. 

“Now now, don't get greedy,” he admonished. “This is my show” 

Dean whined low in the back of his throat. 

“Hands up” 

When Dean lifted his hands up above his head, Chris took both wrists in one hand and held them firm against the rough stucco. His other hand continued pulling and teasing at Dean's cock, drawing small noises and short jerky hip motions out of him. The weight and breadth of him seemed enormous. Dean was trapped against the wall; pinned by his hands and the irresistible feeling of Chris jacking him. He felt surrounded and helpless and needy. It was so good, but he needed more. 

“Please” he breathed. 

“Do you even know what you're asking for, pretty boy?” Chris asked, twisting his hand over the head of Dean's cock in a way that made his eyes roll back. 

Dean could only tilt his body forward and tug uselessly at his wrists in response. The one handed hold wasn't that tight, he should have been able to break it easily, but it felt like a pair of manacles holding him firm. 

“Just what I thought. You were made for this” Chris pressed in closer with his body and nipped a line along Dean's jaw. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked, almost a growl in Dean's ear. 

The world had gone fuzzy at the edges. Dean was overwhelmed by the warring sensations of feeling trapped but also so very very good. He must have made a noise that sounded like assent because he suddenly found himself flipped around and leaning over Baby’s hood on his elbows. His mind spun at the turn of events. He had no idea how things had gotten this far. 

Before he could think to object, Chris had yanked his jeans down and was leaning over him to growl in his ear. 

“I'm going to fuck you, pretty. You're going to come on my cock and then you're going to wrap those cocksucking lips around it until I'm done with you.”

Dean shivered, whether in anticipation or something else he couldn't say. Chris kicked his feet apart and splayed one hand on the small of his back to steady him. There was a sound of tearing plastic, then the feeling of fingers, slick with something cool, sliding between his cheeks. 

Dean sucked in a breath as the first finger breached him. Chris did not have small hands, nor was he moving slowly as he worked Dean open. There was just enough lubrication to keep the pain to a low burn, but Dean could tell this was not going to be easy. Still, the feeling of strong fingers pressing inside, spreading slick into him and occasionally just barely brushing his prostate was too good for him to dwell on the possibility of future pain. Soon he was rocking back into it, wordlessly begging for more. 

Too quickly, Chris decided he was done with preparations. Dean whined as he withdrew his fingers. There was more tearing plastic, a slick sound, and then the blunt head of Chris's condom covered cock against his hole. Dean didn't have time to even think about steeling himself before Chris had grasped both his hips and buried himself to the hilt. 

It was like nothing Dean had felt before. The searing burn of not enough prep, the incredible fullness. Chris must be huge. Dean gasped, trying to catch the breath he had lost upon being impaled by this enormous cock. He could feel his muscles clenching around it, trying to get used to the intrusion. 

He did not have long to acclimate. Chris pulled most of the way out, then back in slower than he had the first time. He set up a steady rhythm that seemed designed to keep Dean from catching his breath. His hand had returned to Dean's back, forcing him to arch it slightly and keeping him at an angle that had Chris's cock brushing against his prostate with every stroke. Whether the pain had faded as he got used to the breadth of the cock in his ass, or whether the building pleasure of being well fucked had simply superseded it, he could not say. 

There were tiny, punched out noises coming from somewhere and Dean realised it was him making them. He held on to the glossy surface of Baby's hood as if for dear life. It was the one thing he could understand in this moment, that he could hold onto amidst the torrent of sensations. His cock slipped and slid across the surface of her hood, slicker even than his recent waxing could account for. He was definitely going to have to give her a wash after this. His mind flicked to Sam. How was he going to explain the streaks and the sudden need for a car wash to his brother? But then Sam never paid attention to things like that. He barely knew how to change the oil. 

Chris slapped him hard across one ass cheek. 

“Focus, pretty boy. You're only going to get fucked like this once in your life, might as well enjoy it” 

Dean moaned and spread his legs wider. Regardless of anything else, it felt good, and didn't he deserve that? To feel amazing just once before the hellhounds came and– he shut that train of thought down before it could go any further. 

He rocked back into Chris’s thrusts, finding a rhythm. The slight burn that remained gave a sharp edge to the bursts of pleasure every time he hit his prostate. It was almost perfect. 

“I need” he found himself saying. “Fuck, please” 

Chris snapped his hips forward in a particularly sharp thrust. 

“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me what you need and I'll let you have it.” 

Dean's mouth worked on nothing, gasping like a fish as he tried to find the words to ask for what he wanted through the haze of need. 

“Touch. I need you to touch me,” he managed. “Touch me so I can come.”

Chris practically roared and snapped his hips again before reaching under Dean to take a firm hold of his cock. 

“See how much you were made for this?” he asked mockingly. “I've barely even started and you're already begging to come on my cock. I bet you never knew how much of a slut you really were.”

The dirty words paired with the already overwhelming sensations of being fucked and jerked off at the same time were too much for Dean, and he shuddered and gasped his way through his orgasm. His vision went white, then dark, then slowly refocused as he came through the aftershocks. He barely noticed Chris pulling out, but he could feel that it was slicker, easier, when he pushed back in. He had used Dean's come for more lube, and that was all kinds of deliciously wrong. 

Every part of him felt oversensitized, and it was all Dean could do to lay bonelessly over the hood of his car while this stranger fucked mercilessly into him. He felt warm, languid despite the rough treatment. He kept his eyes shut tight, wondering when Chris would be done with him; half hoping he never would. 

With a grunt, Chris made one final deep thrust before pulling out entirely. He half tapped, half tugged at Dean's shoulder. 

“Alright pretty boy, time to see if that mouth of yours is as good as your ass.”

Dean let himself be pulled off the car and turned around onto his knees. He looked up glassy eyed at Chris, who ran one hand over Dean's face and along his jaw in a mockery of a caress.

“Open wide,” he said, his thumb catching Dean's lower lip. He pressed his cock to Dean's mouth, forcing his jaw wider. 

Dean’s mind was still fuzzy as he tried to focus on what was happening. He could taste the rubbery latex of the condom, the odd silly putty flavour of the lube, overlaid with a salty, bitter, slightly sour taste that he didn't want to think too hard about. 

Chris had put one hand on the back of his head and was thrusting gently into his mouth. Some instinct told Dean that a lack of enthusiasm would not go well for him here, so he gathered his focus and set to giving the best blow job he knew how. 

The condom was a bit strange, but he soon found a rhythm, alternately using his lips and tongue on the sensitive tip and hollowing his cheeks to swallow as much of it as he could. The cock was no less intimidating from this angle, although that may have been partially because Chris’s hand on the back of his head kept pressing him slightly further than was comfortable. 

Chris smiled down at him. “See? I knew it. You're gorgeous like this, all stretched out and sucking like a pro. I bet you can take the whole thing.”

Dean's eyes widened, but his mouth was too full to object, so he simply tried to relax his jaw as Chris pushed deeper into his mouth. He felt the thick cock hit the back of his throat and keep going, slowly pressing farther while he tried not to cough around it. His eyes watered and he gagged and spluttered as Chris pulled back. 

“So good. Almost had it.” He petted Dean's hair soothingly. “With a little practice, I bet you really could do it. It's almost a pity”

He pressed back in, not quite so far as before and began making shallow thrusts, guiding Dean's head with his hands. Dean's brain tried to catch up to what he had said; there was something important there that he had missed.

He looked up through teary eyes at the man fucking his mouth and saw the same tiger grin he had seen before they had even left the bar. As soon as he met Chris's gaze, he knew. He could feel the strong hands shift on either side of his head, preparing to twist. Every instinct he had was screaming at him, had been screaming at him, to run, to bite down, to do anything but kneel there in the dirt and let this happen. 

Instead he felt his body sag. This was it then. No hellhounds. Just a quick snap and it would all be over. He held his killer’s gaze, accepting his fate. 

The hands tightened around his head. 

Out of nowhere, there was a roar and the hands were ripped away from his head, the cock torn from his mouth, scraping along his teeth as it did so. Dean was thrown to the ground. The impact shocked him into action and he scrambled back, away from both Chris and the unknown assailant. None of his weapons were within easy reach, but he grabbed a fist sized stone from next to the building, and came up facing the new threat. 

Chris was still on the ground, and a familiar shape loomed over him. 

“Get the fuck away from my brother,” Sam growled. Dean had never heard him sound so angry. So dangerous. 

Chris held up a placating hand. “Hey, hey, no harm done. Just a little wager over a game of pool. He's fine.” 

Sam didn't waver. Dean could see now that he had a gun trained on Chris’s chest. 

“Get,” he repeated through his teeth. 

Chris started slightly, then got to his feet, keeping his movements slow and his hands in the air. His whole demeanor had changed, There was no trace of the predator Dean had seen from his knees. 

“I’m going, it’s all good,” he said. Holding his pants up with one hand, he backed away from the brothers. Just before he turned the corner around the building and out of sight, he flashed a smile at Dean, who was still crouched in the gravel, rock in his hand. 

“Thanks for the good time.” 

Sam took a threatening step forward, and Chris was gone into the night. Sam held his gun on the spot where he had been until he was sure Chris wasn’t coming back, then turned back to Dean. 

Dean couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. He was suddenly very aware of the state he was in. His jeans were tangled around his ankles, his knees marked with gravel. There were tear streaks on his cheeks and a smear of something across his face, and his asshole felt wet and open, and it throbbed slightly when he moved. 

Sam moved towards him, then seemed to stop himself. His whole body sagged. He suddenly looked small and very unsure. 

“Dean? What the fuck?”

Dean turned away to stand and pull himself together. He didn’t really have an answer, wasn’t sure what had happened himself, but as he buttoned up his jeans he called over his shoulder with a bravado he didn’t feel.

“Lost the game. Had to pay up.” He turned back to face Sam with a fake smile plastered over his face

“‘Sides, you never had a quick fuck in a parking lot, Sammy? I clearly didn’t raise you right.”

“I should have been there” Sam replied. He was getting that stubborn look on his face. 

“There are some things brothers can’t do for each other,” Dean felt himself wobble slightly, whether from the drink or what he wasn’t sure, but he tossed an arm over Sam’s shoulders to hide it. 

“C’mon, let’s hit the hay. I want to get out of here in the morning. I’m tired of looking at pine trees.” 

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but whatever it was he kept it to himself, and they made their way around the building to the hotel entrance. When they rounded the corner, Dean spared a glance for the direction he thought Chris had gone. There was no one there. The certainty that he was about to die was already fading and he couldn’t be sure he had felt it at all. Not that it really mattered anyway. What was a few months one way or the other when it came to his inevitable death and an eternity of torment? 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Note on the tags:   
> I've deliberately left it ambiguous as to whether Dean is drunker then he thinks he is, drugged, or just in over his head. Proceed at your own risk. 
> 
> Comments are love, concrit welcome.


End file.
